


only you

by goreallegore



Category: GOT7
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: Sunday mornings are Mark's favorite. Well, kind of. Not more than Jackson though. Nothing more than him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiii, i was bored at work and well. this happened ? i hope u lot enjoy it. please leave lots of feedback if you have any. and i love mark and jackson, but what else is new.

Mark kicks the book off the edge of the bed with a slight thud, turning to see Jackson laying on his side; his face right next to Mark’s. The sunlight is peeking thru his blinds, crawling up their blanket covered legs, and there is a dusty shadow of Jackson’s eyelashes on his cheeks. The muted air in the room makes it easy to hear his own steady heartbeat, he realizes, it’s not too loud nor too quiet. It’s just that. Steady. 

 

He brings the tips of his fingers to Jackson’s jaw, the first touch feeling the slight prickle of his stubble, and it’s easy to glide his hand across his skin and cup it. Jackson barely flinches at the touch though. When he’s asleep there’s not much that can wake him, and it’s a habit he should learn to break, but Mark lets him have it as long as he’s around. As long as he’s allowed. Rubbing his thumb over his cheeks he feels the sudden rush of warmth, his chest swelling at the sight, and it’s rare when one of them is quiet in the company of the other -- rarer that Jackson is the one who isn’t talking. It’s like filling gaps you’ve created over time, someone comes bustling in through the doors and demands to fit in them. If you’re really lucky, and he means  _ really really _ the person whom you want to try does. 

 

And if they fit? 

 

He must’ve pressed too hard. Jackson rumbles in his sleep, mouth opening and closing to the slick sound of his chapped lips and saliva, and that’s all. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he says, “It’s still early.” His voice sounds rough, unused. 

 

Mark replies, “I know.” It sounds smaller in comparison. 

 

“Go back to sleep then,” Jackson tries, and a wispy sigh escapes him. Mark leans forward pressing their lips -- just a touch, barely there, almost ghost like. Jackson’s hand on his waist draws him closer though.

 

“Okay, in a little,” Mark pacifies. He threads his fingers through the dark hair, it’s short at the bottom, and he revels in the softness. “Jackson,” it comes out croaky, like his unsureness is seeping through the cracks and crevices the other is filling.

 

“Hrmm,” he hums back. Mark likes it, it sounds musical. Jackson once auditioned for the college production of Beauty and the Beast for shits and giggles. The director, unironically, casted him as Gaston.

 

“Do I look the villain type, Mark?” he’d whined, they’d been at their local pizza joint one that is open late into the night. One where Jinyoung goes to procrastinate over all his Lit papers, and where Yugyeom and Bambam are friends with the cook so they always mooch off a free pizza. 

 

Mark had ordered fries, he remembers. Jaebum had snorted at him for being a disgrace to the greasy pepperoni club. That’s what they call themselves, or what Jaebum insists for Youngjae’s sake -- funny, none of them even really like pepperoni. Except Yugyeom. He likes everything, and, well, everyone. 

 

He hadn’t said anything then, it’d been more amusing to see Jackson whine and pout and recount all his semi-heroic expeditions over the course of the twenty years he’s been alive. When they were leaving, Jinyoung and Yugyeom fighting over the passenger's’ seat like usual, he’d stepped close to Jackson. The brisk air creeped into his jacket, his skin erupting into goosebumps, and he’d said, “Never to me.”

 

Jackson smiled like he knew. Mark’s almost 90% sure he’d been drunk of the wine box Jaebum had smuggled in. They always sneak some in, the owner even knows it by now, so he doesn’t know why they pretend. He’d stuffed his hand into the pocket of Mark’s windbreaker, fingers finding Mark’s and intertwined them.

 

He’d said, “Only you.”

 

Mark blinks out of the daze, eyes focusing in on the peeling edges of the AM poster Andrew had stuck to his wall as a joke. “Chicks dig it,” he’d been standing on a wobbly stool they’d found in the janitor’s closet on his floor, “They’re totally into the alternative scene nowadays.” Mark was too focused on the number scribbled on the note he was holding.  _ Call me _ . It had said. 

 

He smiles, now. Ducking again he kisses Jackson, this time teasing his bottom lip in-between his teeth, and there is guttural sound coming from the back of Jack’s throat. Hands come to hold him steady, and Mark pulls back just a smidge to say, “Can we?”

 

Jackson opens his eyes, half-squinting, and there is something dancing, “You’re a menace.” And then, something softens like he knows, “Everything okay?”

 

Mark blinks, and it comes running to the tip of his tongue. Faster than he’s said anything before. He used to get made fun of, and Jinyoung would swat Jaebum and Jackson, but right now his tongue rolls the words so easily, kind of messily, “I’ll come home with you. For winter break.”

 

It’ll be their first.  _ Of many _ , he hopes.

 

Jackson grins, wide as his teeth and his lips and his face would allow. There is still sunlight streaming in through the blinds and the room should stay it’s muted dull self, but Jackson’s smile makes it harder to notice all the gray. 

 

“I’m happy,” he says, like he has to. 

 

Mark kisses him again. Naturally, he’s better at that, better at letting actions tell all for him. His mouth moves to the softness of Jackson’s and it’s slow. Their hands find each other, and just for the briefest second they pull apart, and Jackson says, “Thank you.” 

 

There is color to his cheeks, and Mark reckons his own ears are burning red. And he grins back, “You’re welcome.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
